Nancy Madore - Enchanted Dreams - Erotic Tales Of The Supernatural

In this position, Catherine sat leaning back at a slight angle, with her arms resting behind her, her breasts jutting outward and her legs spread apart. A gust of wind came sweeping through the valley and ravished her grass garments, causing them to fly in all directions. Two hardened nipples peeked out from the top portion of her dress and the bottom half was completely blown off to the sides, leaving her fully exposed.

Catherine struggled against her restraints, not trying to escape, but simply squirming in anticipation. She waited with excruciating impatience, wondering agitatedly what intensely pleasurable delights were in store for her this time. She did not have long to wait.

Here, already, moving in her direction in steady line, Catherine could see the fiercely colored heads of the tall wildflowers that littered the open field. They approached her in smooth, sweeping waves, seemingly brought about by the wind, but apparently being moved by some power underground, too, for their roots remained intact. With each new gust of wind the wave of flowers came nearer and nearer, until at last the blooms began to brush against her opened legs. Closer and closer they came with each new breeze, until they were being whipped across the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, making them tingle and smart. And they kept advancing even more, causing her thighs to turn from a pale beige to a bright pink, and the little lips of her sex glands to part in surprise.

Catherine now writhed against her bonds, but not at all wishing for them to release her. If anything, she wished they would hold her more rigidly. She was terrified that they might come loose and bring this fantastic event to an end. There was a pleasing sting to the flowers’ thrashing that clashed delightfully with her arousal and created a most intense ache. She was so preoccupied with the sensations brought about by the gentle whipping that she did not even at first realize that the flowers might be doing anything other than simply being swept against her for that pleasure alone. The wind, meanwhile, began to howl as her body strained and shuddered under the exquisitely relentless assault from the brightly colored blooms as they one right after the other slapped against her quickly heating flesh. She wondered at their remarkable strength, for not one of them appeared to lose so much as a petal.

But eventually a slow dawning came, even as Catherine felt the oppressive weight of something heavy and thick coating the little petals of flesh that surrounded her aching hole. She peered down between her legs and noticed that each and every bloom, while brushing across her trembling nether lips, cleverly turned its face toward them and thrust out its heavily coated stamens for a thoroughly intimate kiss that doused her with their nectar! She noticed, too, that each wave of flowers that passed her continued to move forward in the same direction, so that with each new burst of wind an entirely new group of flowers assailed her. In this way, each flower that struck her was fresh and full of more of the thick nectar to leave with her. But why? Her little lips trembled to be so laden.

Catherine’s inner thighs were becoming more and more inflamed and even raw, and her labia was weighted down with the heavy nectar of literally thousands of flowers. She was trembling with an agonizing mixture of pleasure and need. She arched her back and thrust her hips up in an effort to escape the next wave of flowers, but each and every one caught her regardless, striking her pulsing flesh with even more vigor, and hampering her poor little petals with even more of their nectar. Although the nectar was administered one tiny bit at a time, it was astounding how much she had accumulated so quickly. The heavy discomfort was almost completely giving way to desire. Catherine could feel her arousal welling up, strong and full. She whimpered helplessly, wishing suddenly that it would never end.

But already her bonds were tightening and the wind was dying down. The flowers at last receded. Catherine closed her eyes for a moment and tried to still her disappointment and quiet her trembling limbs. Her flesh stung and her legs quivered violently. Her nether lips struggled and quivered under the burden of the nectar.

Her attention was suddenly caught by a peculiar, highpitched sound, seemingly far off in the distance. She opened her eyes and saw that there was a dark but luminous mist of something moving in the sky in the direction of the sound. Whatever it was, it was quickly approaching. Catherine hardly had time to consider what it might be when the first of its arrivals landed.

The shrill whistling had actually been the fluttering of hundreds of tiny wings in flight; once the swarm arrived the noise immediately quieted. Butterflies touched gently down, elegantly and politely, and immediately began to dine on the nectar. There were so many of them, each smartly dressed in their own individual mixture of bright colors so that no two sets of wings were precisely the same. Catherine stared with wide, disbelieving eyes as they each, in turns, feasted on the banquet that had been so painstakingly spread out before them. Their activity tortured her in the most delightful way. The already oversensitive flesh had been made even more so by the extraordinary whipping she had received. She could now keenly feel each and every little butterfly that tapped relentlessly upon her flesh in an effort to capture the sweet taste of nectar through its sensors. Then, slowly, their tongues emerged, unfurling to nearly three times the length of their bodies to painstakingly begin lapping up the sticky nectar. Catherine was acutely aware of the butterflies’ wings as they fluttered and moved, gently battering her with their sheer numbers.

Catherine moaned loudly, straining once again against her bonds, which seemed to tighten in response and draw her legs farther apart. The multitude of butterflies produced a rainbow of lush, colorful activity between her trembling thighs. But they were gracious and well-mannered; they did not battle over the sumptuous meal that was spread out before them. Rather, they each in turn feasted elegantly and leisurely, while the others fluttered their wings and tapped their little feet as they patiently waited. Seven or eight could partake in each sitting, and it tantalized Catherine’s burdened labia when they supped on the sticky nectar. Those that finished moved graciously aside but still lingered, loitering so close as to be nearly on top of one another, but comfortably so, nevertheless.

Catherine’s sensitivities were so acutely awakened by these events that she was keenly aware of every single touch, no matter how feathery light or minute. The butterflies dined enthusiastically but unhurriedly, cleaning their little appendages meticulously as they ate so as not to waste a single drop of the precious nectar. They each worked at her flesh mercilessly with their feet and tongues as they feasted, prodding and kneading her inflamed labia in an effort to remove the sticky nectar from her body. They roamed freely over every part of the feasting area, clinging agilely to her sticky slit and meandering restlessly over and around her clitoris.

Catherine’s hips bobbed and jiggled as much as was possible under her restraints. She felt as if hundreds of tiny hands were actively massaging and stimulating her. But each time she came within a feather’s breath of relief, either the intensity or the location of the stimulation would shift and change, taking her opportunity for release with it. Yet the relentless buildup of desire never stopped; it kept building and growing until she feared that she might burst.

In the course of all this activity, even with such refined diners as these, the nectar could not help but be spread even farther over the area. As this occurred it allowed more butterflies to partake. Catherine knew all of this without actually seeing it, for she could feel them feeding over every part of her, from her clitoris to her anus, and she could do little more than shudder violently as the sensations of pleasure their feeding gave her racked her body. Each little tap from the butterflies’ feet felt like dull little pins pricking her flesh as they tapped and tasted and tapped again, until she had endured thousands of the agonizing little touches. Her body was a living, quaking mass of frothing desire, churning inward from where the butterflies gathered.